"You also, dad."
"No. … I got business with Hal Smith."
Passing Smith, the girl whispered: "You look out for him and undress him."
Smith nodded, gravely preoccupied with coming events, and nerving himself to meet them.
He had no gun. Clinch's big automatic bulged under his armpit.
When the girl had ascended the creaking stairs and her door, above, closed, Clinch walked unsteadily to the door, opened it, fished out his pistol.
"Come on out," he said without turning.
"Where?" enquired Smith.
Clinch turned, lifted his square head; and the deadly glare in his eyes left Smith silent.
"You comin?"